It hurts
by The Anonymite
Summary: And it did hurt.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Death Note.

* * *

So. Epiphanies. Epiphanies are jarring. You know what mine was? No, you don't. Mine was that I'm in love with a guy. Oh, so, you don't find that alarming? Maybe this will help: _I'm a guy_. Yeah, you heard me. I'm a guy. Who's in love with a guy. There are many words for this dilemma, not all of them kind. I am now forced to label myself a fag. Which is actually kind of fitting, because Matt smokes, so he likes fags. Fuck, I hate puns, why did I even say that? Oh, who cares. This whole thing just makes me want to shoot something. Seriously. But Matt would yell at me if I shot someone's cat, so I won't. You know, because my world sort of revolves around him now. Fuck...

* * *

It's still there. That stupid fuzzy feeling I get every time I see him. Which is just about every second of every day, so I'm in an eternal state of fuzzy. It doesn't help that Mello's been being huffy lately; there's just something so irritatingly irresistible about a huffy Mello, you know? Okay, no, you don't know. Whatever. I just want to touch his hair... just once...

* * *

Matt's been moody lately. It's killing me, because he's just so goddamned sexy when he's pissed. It makes me want to kiss him or something, but I can't do that, because that'd be weird. Because there's no way that he likes me back. I mean, all he does is smoke and play his fucking games. I don't think he even knows I'm here. And you know what really sucks?

His stupid oblivion makes me want to cry.

* * *

I caught Mello staring at me today. He looked angry. Like, really, really angry. Like he wanted to punch me or something. It was weird. When I asked him what was wrong, he called me an asshole and went and sat in the kitchen for a really long time. He kept making these really weird noises, and I swear to God, I really think he was crying.

* * *

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. I did it. I cried. I couldn't help it, I just did. He's so fucking oblivious, I just want to hit him. I just want to fucking hit him, and I want to kiss him, and, oh, God, I love him. He's such an ass.

* * *

I love him. I love Mello. It's weird, when I think about it, but it makes a whole hell of a lot of sense. What sucks is that I'm never going to be able to tell him. I mean, he's _Mello_. You don't just blurt out "I love you" to _Mello_. Shit. He would punch me if I said that.

Wait. I'm... gay?

* * *

Dammit. Matt is so weird. We were sitting in the living room, not really talking. Just sitting there. And then Matt looks up from his DS, looking sort of confused and stunned, and then he just starts laughing. Laughing like I haven't seen him laugh since we left Wammy House. I swear, he started crying, he was laughing that hard. It made me happy, though, because he had to take his goggles off to wipe his eyes, and I like his eyes. And then, after he stopped laughing, he smiled at me and ran a hand through his hair - fuck, I wanted to kiss him then - and said, "Damn, I feel good." And all I could do was stare at him like he was crazy, because I wanted him to tell me what he was laughing at, but he didn't get it, and he gave me this look. Shit, that look broke my heart. He looked like he was going to cry, and I wanted to hug him, but I didn't.

* * *

I felt weird last night. Really, really weird. It was like... impending doom or something. I felt like something god-awful was going to happen, and I got pretty scared. It was creepy. And you know what I did? I got out of bed and watched Mello sleep. And it helped in a weird way. My terror turned into sadness, and I felt like... well, I felt like it was my last chance. So I kissed him. Not on the lips, that would have been weird. I pushed his bangs out of the way and kissed his forehead. And he smelled like chocolate, and his hair was soft, and it took everything I had not to start crying. Some tears slipped out anyway.

* * *

I had a dream last night. A really short, but really incredible dream. I dreamed that someone - he smelled like Matt, all cigarette smoke and soap - put his hand in my hair - God, that hand was warm - and kissed me. Not on the lips, though that would have been good, too; on the forehead. God, those lips were soft. And then I heard this sniffle, and there was something wet on my cheek - a tear? - and then I woke up, and Matt was in his bed, asleep. He was frowning, though. I think he was having a bad dream.

* * *

It _hurts_.

Oh, _fuck_, it _hurts_, and I'm bleeding and falling and bleeding some more, and _fuck_, they shot me. They shot me.

I'm dying.

_I'm dead_. But not yet. No, not yet. I have a little more... something. Inhale on that cigarette. Taste that smoke. Man, I wish that smoke was chocolate.

"I love you," I whisper into the cigarette, whisper to the fag, and I really think I smell chocolate and damn, his hair is soft, and

* * *

Matt's dead.

_Matt... Mail Jeevas. is dead._

I can't feel anything. I just feel sort of... dead. I dunno. Maybe I died with Matt. It'd make sense. I loved the bastard. I still do. But he's dead and he's dead and he's dead. Fuck.

* * *

_A blond was burning. Burning like so much tinder, like an oil slick. He was the most flammable thing there. Mentally, anyway._

_A blond was burning._

'It hurts,' _he said, his voice no louder or softer than it usually was._ 'It hurts.' _And it did hurt._

_Blue eyes, glassy eyes, stared at nothing as heat and light and flame engulfed him._

_"I love you," he whispered._

_And he was gone._


End file.
